Two Memories Gone and Remembered
As with the rest of the world, I'm shocked and extremely saddened about Houston's sudden passing. I wonder how many millions of people are at home right now thinking the same thing in stunned silence.
I think what hits home (for me anyway), perhaps even more so than the untimely passing of an exceptional talent, are the very bittersweet memories of days past where that talent featured prominently in my life, and the continued realization that nothing (as in, none of us) last forever.
The 90's were my transitional years, and as with most people's pre-teen and teenage years, that era of music stands out as the best for them. Just thinking of her music brings me right back to those years so sharply it stings. Do you know that feeling? Of youth lost and taken for granted - better times when many people you've since lost are still alive, your world is still relatively innocent, and the slow approach of the end of your own mortality is not forefront in your mind. Bitter, bittersweet.
I had a student a few years back whose mother owned a Chinese restaurant and used to bring food for me to almost every lesson. She even knitted a shawl for me - just because she could. She was a sweet, lively woman who remained sweet and lively after a colon cancer diagnosis and subsequent colostomy and chemo. Lessons ended as she dealt with her cancer and her daughter's subsequent move to college. In the following years, the mom, who knew I was dealing with my own far less life-threatening ills, would check in on me from time to time. She would call out of the blue - usually when I was at my lowest - and chat, perky as ever, telling me she was doing much better, reminding me to live each day to its fullest.
Normally I despise being told how to live my life through my illness, but with her it was never patronizing, and I appreciated the understanding and support. Surely if she could be that sick and make it through surgery and chemo relatively happy, maybe I really could too, and I'm not as sick.
Yesterday her daughter informed me that her mom had unexpectedly passed away on Christmas. This incredible little woman - my occasional cheerleader and a source of great mental strength - gone? She was supposed to be better - a reminder what a positive attitude and iron will could do. "Live each day, live each day..." The cynical side of me says, "Well, look at all the good that did." But I know better.
So I guess I'll leave it with that. Depressing post is depressing, I know. We don't get to plan our lives - we don't know when we might face the challenge of illness - we don't know when we're going to join the choir invisible. We just don't know. As my trainer would say, "MAKE THIS ONE YOUR BEST!"
I think what hits home (for me anyway), perhaps even more so than the untimely passing of an exceptional talent, are the very bittersweet memories of days past where that talent featured prominently in my life, and the continued realization that nothing (as in, none of us) last forever.
The 90's were my transitional years, and as with most people's pre-teen and teenage years, that era of music stands out as the best for them. Just thinking of her music brings me right back to those years so sharply it stings. Do you know that feeling? Of youth lost and taken for granted - better times when many people you've since lost are still alive, your world is still relatively innocent, and the slow approach of the end of your own mortality is not forefront in your mind. Bitter, bittersweet.
I had a student a few years back whose mother owned a Chinese restaurant and used to bring food for me to almost every lesson. She even knitted a shawl for me - just because she could. She was a sweet, lively woman who remained sweet and lively after a colon cancer diagnosis and subsequent colostomy and chemo. Lessons ended as she dealt with her cancer and her daughter's subsequent move to college. In the following years, the mom, who knew I was dealing with my own far less life-threatening ills, would check in on me from time to time. She would call out of the blue - usually when I was at my lowest - and chat, perky as ever, telling me she was doing much better, reminding me to live each day to its fullest.
Normally I despise being told how to live my life through my illness, but with her it was never patronizing, and I appreciated the understanding and support. Surely if she could be that sick and make it through surgery and chemo relatively happy, maybe I really could too, and I'm not as sick.
Yesterday her daughter informed me that her mom had unexpectedly passed away on Christmas. This incredible little woman - my occasional cheerleader and a source of great mental strength - gone? She was supposed to be better - a reminder what a positive attitude and iron will could do. "Live each day, live each day..." The cynical side of me says, "Well, look at all the good that did." But I know better.
So I guess I'll leave it with that. Depressing post is depressing, I know. We don't get to plan our lives - we don't know when we might face the challenge of illness - we don't know when we're going to join the choir invisible. We just don't know. As my trainer would say, "MAKE THIS ONE YOUR BEST!"